


beginner's guide in recovering from pyrrhic victories

by submersive



Series: hallelujah junction [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26046919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/submersive/pseuds/submersive
Summary: “Remember when I almost hit Tobio?”
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru
Series: hallelujah junction [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859551
Comments: 35
Kudos: 478





	beginner's guide in recovering from pyrrhic victories

Somewhere inside Tooru resides all the ages he’s ever been.

-

Five, and his mother is tending to a little bruise on his cheek after the kid he’d punched for teasing Hajime punched him back.

-

Nine, and his best friend’s father is teaching them how to speak in english over dinner, asking them to carefully enunciate the consonants that didn’t exist in hiragana and katakana.

-

Eleven, and his sister’s painting his nails with pink for a bet that he’d lost. He went to school and got in trouble for breaking the code of conduct but he secretly loves how his nails smelled of varnish the entire day - and also that his sister got in trouble when their parents found out what happened.

-

Thirteen, and standing in line with Hajime by his side as the team captain introduced himself to them and asked for them to recite theirs.

“Oikawa Tooru, senpai, I will be captain like you one day!” he’d said and felt Hajime step on his toes, but the captain merely smiled and nodded and said he’d look forward to that day.

-

Fifteen, and he’s the one blinking down at the juniors, #1 proudly printed on his shirt. 

Tooru’d looked at the them, fresh faced and trusting, and thought ‘I’m gonna make you love volleyball so much, you wouldn’t dare part play any other sport’

Fifteen, and he’s hearing how _replaceable_ he is. How he isn’t good enough - not when Tobio- _chan_ was there now.

Fifteen, and he’s in pain from a landing gone wrong. The wide blue eyes of Tobio staring up at him; shock, loss, and utter devastation all colliding in Tooru’s chest.

 _What have I done_ , he’d thought as his face snapped to the side from Hajime’s fist - serious. So serious this time.

“I’m sorry,” he’d whispered to the wide blue eyes empty of any resentment or terror that should have been there.

 _I almost hit him_ , he thought. _I almost hit Tobio_.

Tooru wishes they could have stopped there, but it didn’t.

-

Sixteen, and he’s being kissed on the lips by a girl. The air is suffused by her cologne and he wishes he could tell her but he thinks of Hajime saying _be nice_ so he refrains from doing so.

Sixteen and he gets his first handjob, her delicate hands guided by his as she brings him off behind the school cafeteria, the air smelling of pancakes.

-

Seventeen, and he’s had sex thrice, twice with different women, and once with Hajime. None of them felt right.

Well. Hajime hadn’t been that bad, he supposes.

“That felt really good,” Hajime whispered to him as they lay on Tooru’s bed, panting at the ceiling as Tooru wiped his hands with tissues. “But also really weird.”

Tooru grinned and agreed, but doesn’t really think about it much. Not even when it happened again then smiled when it happened for the final time.

-

Eighteen and he’s watching Tobio writhe against the wall, riding his thigh and blinking up at him with want. Tooru understands the kind of desperation Tobio must be feeling - of wanting more and of Tooru being the only one who can give it.

Tooru felt no guilt. No sadness. Just the stirring wherewithal to possess and to have power over this boy who had raw talent that Tooru so desperately wanted. Who had everything Tooru had ever yearned for right at the tips of his fingers.

He liked the way Tobio’s mouth felt around his cock, which was a bonus.

He wants to show Tobio how it feels like to lose - to yearn for something and get a taste of it— to hurt him as much as he had hurt Tooru even unknowingly—then to have his dignity stripped off him when he finally realises what Tooru has done to him.

 _This is the final time_ , he’d thought in a moment of generosity when he’d slid into Tobio for the first time and tasted the honeysuckle sweetness of his longing; his willingness to give everything he’d ever owned and plant them at Tooru’s feet.

-

Nineteen and suddenly, inexplicably realising how fucking cruel he’d been. How in all of his ministrations and obsessing over Tobio, he’d given up part of himself to him too, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to get it back.

Nineteen and he houses two things inside of him: guilt and the desire to _be better_.

-

Twenty one, and it’s a new city. New language, new everything. Devoid of every aspect of the home he’d come to learn. It’s sad, it’s so terribly _lonely_ but the loneliness is interspersed by the thirst to be the _best_ in this sport. In this role. In all of the whole world. To show _him_ that he’s better.

Watching Tobio on the world stage makes him want to bleed himself dry; envy and bitterness strewed with the pride of seeing someone he knew so very well make it to their dream.

“How are you doing there, Shittykawa?”

Tooru looked at the dilapidated cabinets of his tiny kitchen, stacks of empty instant noodle packets crammed into a rubbish bin he couldn’t find enough energy to dispose of. 

He felt weak and afraid, but he smiled at his best friend and his sister who’d joined the call and told them that he was okay.

If he repeated it enough, maybe he’ll start believing it himself.

-

Twenty three, and he is heartsick and empty, and he can hardly remember a time when he’d last felt joy. _True_ joy. The kind of joy that made him run up to his friends and jump in their arms, their wide smiles proudly greeting him back. The exhilaration of winning something together.

The exhilaration of playing the sport he gave up everything for.

-

Twenty five, and his life is suddenly looking up.

He had stripped himself bare of everything he was and bore a flag that didn’t have a lick of red in it, all for a country that left a space for him to exist and roam with the other monsters in the world of volleyball.

-

Twenty six, and he sees him again in person; so familiar and _so different_ that everything that surrounds him makes Tooru feel like he’s stepping back to the past and flying into the future at the same time.

There he is, taking the place that Tooru had wanted for himself for _so long_ \- the very thing he’d wanted since the day he’d discovered this sport…

Everything that Tooru wanted, served to Tobio on a gold platter.

Everything he had, Tooru had to _work_ for.

“Isn’t that the one who kept you up for four nights in a row? Number 9?” Their libero says, nudging their Ace and wriggling his eyebrows towards the other end of the courtside where Japan's team gathered.

“Not bad. Pity you’re a possessive shit, Rene, I would’ve loved to join in.”

“Hey, _he_ has a name, Ben” Their ace, Rene, chides as he wipes his brow. “Kageyama’s a good one. Also, aren’t you dating Janine?”

“You know him?” Tooru asks, curling the words in spanish, unable to keep his curiosity from his voice.

“Oh, Rene _knows_ him alright,” their main libero, Ruben Fernandez, chimed in again, teasing. “Knows him _very well_ from _all_ the important angles inside _and out_ . Knows him so much I didn’t have a place to sleep for _four nights_ ever since Kageyama fell into Ren’s lap out of nowhere.”

“Cállate, por favor,” Ren says with a smirk. “And yeah, I know him. Why? He one of your friends?”

“I—”

“ _Oh shit_ ,” Ben snaps, his eyes wide when realisation dawns onto him as he sees the sudden anger colouring Tooru’s face. “Kageyama. As in _Tobio_ Kageyama, right? The guy you’re always watching? No wonder he looks familiar.”

The horn that signalled the start of the game blew, and Tooru, a million hours later, finds himself in the same position as he’d been many years ago: on the floor, looking up to the slope of Tobio’s shoulder as he turned away from Tooru and into the welcoming arms of all the familiar faces Tooru grew up with.

Twenty six and Tobio remains to shine brighter than Tooru ever could.

Twenty six and he wonders why everything about he ever feels for Tobio is guilt and envy, and the need for his attention.

-

Twenty seven and he’s back to holding an absence of joy in his centre as if his sadness has taken a life of its own.

Twenty seven and all he does is train and go to matches then train again.

“You’re being dumb again,” Hajime snaps at him over the phone. “Ever since Tokyo, you’re being stupid again. Quit fucking _exerting_ yourself too much.”

“Okay, Japan’s Olympic Trainer Doctor of Sports Science Iwaizumi Hajime.”

Hajime sighs. “You’ve been doing so well, what the hell happened? Why are you _punishing yourself_ this time?”

Oh. There it is.

Tooru clutches the phone against his ear, digging its curved edges into his temple so it would hurt. He bites into his lip, tries so desperately not to make a sound. Any sound. Not when Hajime’s listening. Not when his best friend’s listening - someone who knows him _too well_.

He’s always been an ugly crier.

“ _Iwa_ -chan,” he whines after a few minutes of him just sniveling into the phone with Hajime’s confused silence keeping him company, tears and snot running down his face and dripping into his pillow before he even begins to confess.

“Remember when I almost hit Tobio?”

“To— yes,” Hajime answers cautiously. “Why are we talking about Tobio?”

“Iwa-chan, I did something _worse_.”

And then everything spills forward.

“How _old_ was he, Oikawa?” Hajime grits out after Tooru’s done, anger making him sound rough and haggard. “How old when you—”

“ _Iwa-chan_ ,”

“Tooru, you’re my brother and I’d _die_ for you but you need to— how _old_ was he? How old were _you_? _Why_ would you do—do you take pride in hurting people? In hurting yourself? What fucking _result_ were you looking for—”

“I wanted him to hate volleyball,” he confesses. “I wanted him to feel as terrible as I did. I wanted to take volleyball away from him.”

He buries his face into his pillow wanting so badly to scream. To let Hajime know how much he hates himself for everything he’s done - for everything he’s allowed himself to do. For everything he’s ever felt, for ever _meeting_ him. For destroying himself to _destroy_ _Tobio_ and for wanting to be made whole again, even now.

He’s tired of feeling guilty. He’s so tired of it all. It’s not that his life wasn’t good - it’s just that there’s a singular part of him that still remained with Tobio, and he wants to take it back.

He wants to _say sorry_.

 _God_ he wants to say sorry.

“Get help, and then _ask_ if he wants your apology. You can’t force him to— your absolution isn’t for his comfort, it’s for yours, you selfish bastard. It’s not about what _you_ want now, Tooru.”

“I don’t know how to talk to him!”

“I’ll see if he’ll allow me to give you his number but _only_ after you get help, okay? I thought you were a shithead but I didn’t think you’re an _abusive fucking asshole_ ”

“Hajime.”

His best friend sighs and they pause - several seconds of just existing. Of breathing.

“Tooru,” Hajime says into the quiet, his voice weary. “I will _never_ not be here for you. And I want you to know how thankful I am that you told me. I— In the last couple of years, I knew something was wrong. I _knew_ and I was waiting. So thank you for trusting me with this.

"And you’ve been there for me since we were in _diapers_ , Shittykawa. Remember when someone tried to bully me in preschool and you punched the kid and got sent home? You’re _my best friend_ and you’ve been there for me so now let me be here for you.

"I can’t exactly punch you in the face right now even if I _want_ to, but I’ll look for someone you can talk to. Professionally. I want— I _need_ you to be okay, shithead. I need for you to be okay.”

Tooru nods, smearing the wetness of his cheeks into the pillow. For once feeling like everything will be alright now that his best friend knows.

“Okay.”

Everything is silent for them for a while and Tooru listens to the harried little hiccups that activate his hind brain. The part where it’s ‘ _your best friend is crying, must defend!_ ’ but this time it was Tooru who hurt him.

“You know I always thought you were in love with him. I didn’t think—”

“I was,” Tooru admits, squeezing his eyes shut. “I think I was.”

A bitter laugh tolls from the other end. It sounds like a death knell.

“That makes it worse, doesn’t it? What you did.”

-

Twenty eight, and he thinks he’s ready to finally reach out. Maybe.

Twenty eight and he panics at the sudden phone call.

Twenty eight and he thinks Hajime and _everyone_ who ever respected him in his stint as their captain in Seijoh are ready to strangle him for giving them back to back updates on how he’s _fucked it all up again_.

Twenty eight and _Kindaichi Yuutaro_ and _Kunimi Akira_ are threatening him with bodily harm.

“Leave him _alone_ ,” Akira-chan hissed at him through a voice message sent to the group after Kindaichi’s text of _‘@you Go fuck yourself’_.

Twenty eight, and he’s given a chance.

Twenty eight when he falls completely fucking _in love_ , which he didn’t fucking expect.

Twenty eight and he is inundated with the need to be _good_ . To be _worth_ something for Tobio.

Twenty eight and Tobio’s reaching out to him midway, throwing him a metaphorical stick to hang on to.

He’s twenty eight and he wants to _try_.

It takes a lot of work for him. For them. Together and individually.

Tooru spends most of his weekends repentant, guilty, and boiling in self-hatred, curled up on his therapist’s chaise lounge, tears leaking out of his eyes after he’s back in San Juan.

He spends many afternoons with an airpod in his ear wondering why Tobio liked to hear him go about his day having _merienda_ with his teammates as Tobio tucked himself in bed, but if it gives Tobio comfort, then why not?

Some nights it’s them blinking blearily at each other through their cameras, Tooru’s dick punching into his own fiat as he tells Tobio how many fingers he should shove in his ass and how _fast_ Tobio should be fucking himself with them.

They spend the entire time relearning - orienting themselves to the other, finding their ways. Whispering little secrets here and there, Tobio waking up at five in the morning so it’s _Tooru_ who can fall asleep to his voice and to the sound of him getting ready for his morning jog.

Twenty eight and he’s brave enough to tell Tobio everything he’s ever felt; and brave enough to hear everything Tobio’s ever been through.

The longing makes Tooru want to crawl into a corner and chain himself to the grills of the planter box outside of his window just so he wouldn't get up and leave Argentina to move in with Tobio right then and there.

“I’ve been going to therapy,” Tobio says to him once when Tooru’s in the middle of showering after his morning run, his phone propped against the mirror, loudspeaker turned on.

“Yeah? How is it?”

Tooru switches the water off so he can hear Tobio better, turning so he can face Tobio from under the suds in his hair, not even bothering to cover himself.

On his phone screen, Tobio’s watching him shower unabashedly, palming his crotch and shamelessly showing the wet spot on the tent in his boxers to Tooru.

“Good. Also, can you get me off? I'm hard."

Twenty eight, and everything he’s needed to feel happy is right there with him.

-

Twenty nine, and suddenly he’s looking at Tobio again, face to face. For real this time. 

Twenty nine and Tooru’s kissing Tobio in the middle of the courtyard in the olympic village with a hand placed possessively on the small of Tobio’s back without care for anyone who’d see, the summer sun bearing down upon them.

Tooru ignores the eyerolls and the _relief_ he’d seen in Tobio’s teammates and spends the entire time feeling _complete_ even on the days when Tobio or Tooru can’t do anything but slide into the bed of the quarters they were given — one of his own teammates taking one for the team and rooming with Atsumu in Tobio’s place.

Twenty nine, and Tooru’s watching his partner from across the court again, adrenaline rushing through his veins - the thrill of _winning_ volleyball interspersed with the thrill of seeing Tobio play but this time they’re meeting each other’s eyes, a challenge and a promise wrapped with a secret smile right before him and Tooru obliterate the other with serves and sets, using their own sets of monsters to the best of their abilities.

“Yo te amo tanto,” he whispers against Tobio’s lips as they passed each other when they had to switch sides, just to feel him shiver. Just _because_ he wanted to. Just because he _can_. “Eres mi sol, mi luna y todas mis estrellas.”

He feels Tobio’s lips quirk, the shape of it pressed against his mouth, then Tooru’s stepping away with a yelp after Hoshiumi Kourai slaps his back a little too harshly like a protective mongrel that he is.

He brushes his thumb against Tobio’s lip _just because he’s allowed,_ then he walks to where his team’s waiting, his eyes smugly meeting Rene's eyes as if to say: _yeah, fuck you, he’s mine_.

“Got it, cap,” Rene chuckles, amused.

It didn’t matter who won then.

Not when their teams met later that night, sharing laughter and friendly taunts over drinks as they egg Tooru and Tobio to dance on the lawn where many of their co-athletes gathered for another street party to celebrate just _being there_.

It didn’t matter. None of it did.

Not when Tooru had his own sun and moon and stars right there next to him. A little world of his own, all to himself.

“How are your sessions going?” Tobio asks when they make it back to their room.

Tooru beams at him. “They’re great. Yours?”

Tobio meets his eyes and leans on the hand that Tooru brushes against his cheek.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

-

Thirty and he has Tobio with him in a country he now calls home.

He has Tobio in the place that allowed Tooru to chase his dreams and _live them_.

He has him in his own bed, his own kitchen, his own life. His shirt draped on the back of Tooru’s kitchen chair, his wet towels hanging on Tooru’s laundry basket.

He has Tobio on his lap, behind him, around him, in him. He has Tobio’s words in his mouth, and Tobio’s groans in his chest.

He has him there, and it’s perfect. It’s so perfect that all Tooru can think about is how it would feel like to come home to him every day; to sigh into his neck and complain to him about how Tooru’s day went. To rest his feet on Tobio’s lap as he mouths through the lines of his favourite alien documentaries.

He wants everything and nothing from Tobio - just him, there. Always. To smell his own shampoo on Tobio’s hair every time they retired for the night. 

To build a home of their own. To get to have this _forever_.

He wants to count their decades together through the lines crinkling the corner of Tobio’s blue eyes. He wants those wrinkles to exist for all the times he’ll make him laugh, or hear him laugh surrounded by every person who’s ever made Tobio feel truly loved.

He wants to get to watch as Tobio’s dark hair slowly turn grey, and to still be able to kiss the lone freckle on his collarbone until their last days on earth.

-

Thirty one, and he’s engaged.

Thirty one, and it’s his last season.

Thirty one, and he wins his last game as MVP for the World Champions League, perched on the shoulders of his teammates, finding that exact same happiness he once lost. The winning trophy raised up in the air as he grinned up to where Hajime’s on his feet on the stands, meeting his eyes as his best friend shouted indecipherable words. But Tooru didn’t need to hear the words, not when he could see the pride shining in every angle of Hajime’s body.

Thirty one, and he gets an armful of sunshine and a mouthful of orange hair.

“Heard you’re gonna be my brother in law soon, Oikawa-san!” The cretin beams at him after they part from the hug, happy despite his own team losing. “Hope you’re ready to have me, Kei, Tadashi, and Hitoka in your household. Hope you’re ready to have _THE ADLERS_ in your household. And _the entire Karasuno VBC_ alumni too. And also the JNT team, to be honest.”

“Not if I kill you all first,” Tooru laughs, remembering the time Hoshiumi Kourai, all 173.1 cm of him, essentially giving him the shovel talk.

Thirty one, and he’s asking Hajime to be his best man, and Hajime’s fucking _bawling_ next to him when he visits, wrapping Tooru in his arms and telling him how proud he is of Tooru. Of them, of how proud he is of being Tooru’s best friend - of being his brother.

“Being this in love is fucking _terrifying_ , Iwa-chan.”

Hajime chortles and drapes himself more loosely against his shoulder. “Yeah, you’re tellin’ me.”

“Do you think we’ll be okay? They’re saying six in ten marriages fail when couples don’t try to live together first, what if we—”

“Well, y’both better work hard to keep belonging to the 40% then. Work until it doesn’t feel like work anymore.”

“Yeah.”

Hajime claps him in the back and starts sorting through the mountain of paper works and civil registry requirements that Tooru printed for them. “Bet it’ll be worth it though.”

Tooru grins. “Of course, Iwa-chan.”

-

Thirty two, and he’s standing in front of a judge in a _municipio_ in San Juan, Tobio wearing a suit next to him - a suit Tooru can’t wait to peel off of him, layer by layer.

Thirty two, and he has Hajime, Issei, Takahiro, his own parents, Takeru, and his sister standing behind him, as Shouyou, Miwa-san, Wakatoshi, Kourai, Kei, Tadashi, and Hitoka stand behind Tobio.

Thirty two, and his fingers tremble as they slide a ring on Tobio’s finger.

Thirty two, and he’s long since given up on biting back tears as he devotes himself to the man in front of him, body and soul.

Thirty two, and Tobio’s hand is warm around his, his face broken open by the biggest smile Tooru’s ever seen on him. Looking at him as if he’s all he’s ever wanted. As if everything in the world can be sunshine and volleyball, but only with Tooru by his side can he ever really be happy.

Thirty two, and Tobio’s taking his name.

Thirty two, and Tobio’s planting a gentle kiss on his lips, whispering _‘ti amo amore mio_ ’ like he’s done every single time he’s talked to Tooru on the phone since they’d gotten together.

“You know you have to fly to Roma at some point right?” Tobio giggles at him when they’re tipsy after the little gathering they had for their families. “AR wants to throw us a party. I think Samuele’s planning a fake marriage ceremony at L’Arena.”

Tooru twirls Tobio fully knowing that he’s pliant and willing to be clowned when he’s like this. Shouyou and Kourai are merrily taking photos and videos.

“I’ll marry you _everywhere_ if I could, Tobio-chan.”

Thirty two and Tooru’s the youngest and oldest he’s ever felt.

-

Somewhere inside Tooru resides all the ages he’s ever been.

And if he thinks about it, every single one of those years have been shared with the people who are smiling at them as him and Tobio danced around the room.

Somewhere inside Tooru resides all the ages he’s ever been.

And if he _really_ thinks about it, every single one of those ages—every hurt, every happiness, every love and pain, every joy, and every suffering. Every heartache and every victory he’s ever had.

Every single one of every moment he’s ever lived has led him here: To unconditional love. To unfailing trust. To the desire to be good. 

To _Tobio_.

And every single age he’ll be, from this point in time, will be spent as Tobio’s husband, and Tooru truly can’t fucking think of anything else he’d rather be than that.

**Author's Note:**

> a pyrrhic victory is a victory that inflicts such a devastating toll on the victor that it is tantamount to defeat.
> 
> *I mentioned Miwa because there's something for her and Tobio in this verse.


End file.
